


must be dreaming

by popocco



Category: Gintama
Genre: Anal Sex, Canon Compliant, Casual Sex, Emotional Constipation, Established Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, Introspection, M/M, emotional constipation so fucking bad it takes years and a gallon of metamucil to resolve, yamazaki makes a brief cameo to get yelled at
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-23
Updated: 2018-05-23
Packaged: 2019-05-12 23:49:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,596
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14738109
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/popocco/pseuds/popocco
Summary: A week or two after the Benizakura incident, Hijikata is still unsatisfied with the report Yamazaki gave him on Sakata Gintoki's potential involvement, so he does some investigating of his own. Absolutely nothing goes the way he wants it to.





	must be dreaming

**Author's Note:**

> well... here i am i guess lol. about a year ago i promised myself i would never write fic for this series considering how OLD and intimidating any fandom must be (and how much i don't want to be aware of 95% of it). but i kept coming up with more and more concepts, and just writing short script format dialogues between these two on my phone in the bathroom at work, i fell so in love with them. this fic was originally meant to be a doujinshi, but i don't quite have the resources or work ethic to produce one of those things by myself, so i wound up giving in. in the end i feel like it was a good choice to write it instead, because i was able to more explicitly convey some of the emotions in it.
> 
> i know everyone and their mom loves the benizakura arc but that's because it's just incredibly fucking good. the only thing i wanted more of from it was some of that good old Injured Hero Convalesces And Is Forced To Face Unwanted Emotions stuff, so i brought it out in spades. enough for two people, in fact. ;-) hope you enjoy!
> 
> \---

It’s completely the wrong direction from the barracks. Hijikata could make some excuse or other about ending his shift for the night in the general area, but Kabukicho is far enough out of the way from there still that there’s really no point.

Last call was half an hour ago and he’s standing in front of that irritating old two-story snack bar with his hands in his pockets, staring up at the wooden signboard under the balcony as if reading the words on it will bring him to his senses somehow.

It’s bothering him.

It’s been bothering him since he read that goddamn disgraceful fourth grade journal entry of an “investigation report” Yamazaki had the balls to turn in to him, so, here he is.

The lights on the first and second floor are all out, and the street is empty except for a few straggling drunks here and there. Hijikata goes around to the staircase and climbs it, quietly. Stops at Yorozuya’s front door.

He’s already come this far, so he doesn’t give himself any more chances to question what he’s doing, or why, and slides his fingers into the handle. With a testing little nudge it easily starts to come open- his body tenses, instincts waiting for signs of activity beyond the threshold, but after a long enough period of nothing it feels safe to continue.

How careless is this bastard, leaving his door unlocked overnight? Not that he has anything worthwhile for someone to come in and steal.

There are no shoes in the entryway, and the Yato kid’s umbrella is gone too. That freakish dog of hers hasn’t come to confront him either. The place is completely empty, just like it should be- at the very least Yamazaki’s intel is reliable at its absolute barest minimum.

Hijikata advances into the office and gives it a once-over. There’s the armoire in the corner, and there’s the desk in front of the window at the back. Both likely places for any suspicious invoices or correspondences to be stashed away. The desk has fewer drawers to search, so that’s where he’ll start.

Standing where Yorozuya usually sits, seeing the ancient rotary phone in arm’s reach, Hijikata finally can’t stop himself anymore from thinking that he’s completely wasting his time here. 

Yorozuya talks to people. He runs into them on the street when it’s least convenient, tracks them down at work to slack off and waste their time, jumps into their booth at a restaurant to squeeze desserts out of their bill, then comes back here where everyone knows they can find him. There’s no need at all for such a brazen, inelegant guy to write letters, not even to Edo’s most wanted. If he were connected to such a person he would just shamelessly bother and impose on them like he does to everybody else.

Hijikata might as well be expecting to look in a drawer, see an envelope with TOP SECRET, DO NOT OPEN in bright red ink on front, and find a stamped signed confession inside reading “Congratulations! Just as you suspect, I am a joui patriot. Please arrest me for crimes of domestic terrorism”. 

Hoping for that or anything else is beyond pointless. What “anything else” is doesn’t matter, so he isn’t going to think about it. He’s going to turn around and leave.

Before he can move even an inch there’s the unmistakable sound of footsteps directly outside, and the front door rattles open. The very last voice in the entire universe Hijikata wants to hear mumbles to itself in the entryway.

“Did I forget to lock up? Well whatever. Not like there’s anything to steal in here.”

A pair of boots hits the floor, one more footstep, two more. Sakata Gintoki walks into his office and locks eyes with Hijikata across the coffee table.

Shit.

_Shit._

What the hell kind of luck is this? It’s been two or three weeks since the last time they randomly wound up at the same drinking stand. Did it throw off some kind of balance? Is this the backlash? Does this asshole’s destiny to appear at the worst possible moment operate on that sort of principle?

There’s enough mingled neon light coming in from the pleasure district outside for them to clearly see each other’s faces. Yorozuya is just giving him those same old dead fish eyes. It’s starting to piss him off.

“... Sooo, yeah, as you can see we’re closed right now,” the prick finally finds the motivation to say, shoving a finger up his nose while he’s at it. “Not that we have our hours of operation up anywhere, I guess.”

When he raises his hand Hijikata notices the thick layering of gauze wrapped around it almost up to his second set of knuckles. There’s more of the stuff visible under the open collar of his shirt, and it could just be the bad lighting but it looks like there’s a dark spot on it or two.

Yamazaki never went into any more detail than “he’s injured”, because of course he fucking didn’t, so Hijikata doesn’t really know what he was expecting. It’s not bad enough to prevent mobility obviously but he can’t exactly tell any more than that from where he’s standing.

He seems- 

It seems a bit worse than he had unconsciously thought. Maybe.

Hijikata is quickly annoyed with himself for being at all rattled. Even more quickly, he’s exponentially more annoyed with Yorozuya for _still_ rambling on like he’s the only person in the room here, about having that Shimura kid make an open/closed sign for them because he likes that kind of boring crap, or something.

“-actually, there’s no way Shinpachi wouldn’t put down something really early for the opening time, huh. Damn it. Never mind that then.”

Isn’t this guy talking to himself a lot more than usual? Wait, no, why isn’t _he_ jabbing at any of this shit like he normally does either? What is happening here?

“Anyways, we _are_ closed, but since it’s so unheard of for Oogushi-kun to come with a request, I’ll hear it out? Did your pet hamster run away?” He’s stopped digging around in his nostril and the dull look on his face shifted at some point into that wide, mocking sneer of his, the one that feels like it’s used exclusively for prodding at Hijikata’s temper.

Ah, yeah, it isn’t that he’s been weirdly hesitant to talk ever since Yorozuya walked in the door. It’s that nothing he’s said has been worth dignifying with a response in the first place. Screw this.

Hijikata steps around the desk and starts towards the exit. “Seems like I was sleepwalking and wound up here, my bad.” 

If he’s not going to ask anything about the Shinsengumi’s second in command standing in his empty house after 3 A.M. then Hijikata isn’t going to offer any explanations for it. God, what a waste of time. He’s going to be tired tomorrow morning for no reason.

“Sure,” Yorozuya shrugs, giving every appearance of just letting the whole thing go. 

But when Hijikata starts to pass by him, ten feet from the door, “That Jimmy-kun of yours, he was sleepwalking too I guess.”

……

Yamazaki Sagaru lived a good life, committed to protecting Edo’s people.

That’s what Hijikata will say at his funeral.

After he kills him.

It’s muffled for about half a second but Yorozuya is just openly laughing at him, while he leans right in close, inappropriately close, to get a clear look at his expression. Lots of funeral addresses to plan tonight.

“Wow, you’re making a rrreeeaaallllyyy good face right now,” Yorozuya fucking giggles, hard enough for his breath to waft up into Hijikata’s bangs. It stinks. He needs to brush his goddamn teeth.

This is well past the limit of what Hijikata can silently bear with anymore, but before he can get a hand on his sword or say anything, the bastard has straightened back up and away with… A more blatantly performative kind of indifferent look than Hijikata has ever seen on him.

“I don’t really care either way,” he lies, “but it’s already noisy enough at that place right now without any more extra people. No more well-wishing from you tax robbers, ‘kay?”

What… is this.

Since he fixed his posture his eyes went somewhere off to the side of the room and whatever it is they found over there must be awful interesting, because they’re sure taking their time on it. Why’s he so uneasy in his own damn house? Enough of this bullshit.

“... What are you doing here?”

Asking such a thing when _he’s_ the intruder in this situation is just looking for trouble, but trouble he can deal with from Yorozuya. Trouble’s better than this limp, uncomfortable hesitation.

That finally gets Yorozuya’s eyes back on him. Hijikata realizes it’s the first thing he’s really properly said since he got caught here. It’s a pretty arrogant line to start with. There’s no way Yorozuya will let it slide.

“Ummm, this happens to be my home,” he says like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

Well, it pretty much is. Hijikata walked right into that. He’s giving himself a headache.

“That’s not what I meant.” 

He doesn’t have the energy for their usual game of mutual provocations. He can tell from Yorozuya’s half-hearted sarcasm that he’s not alone there, either. It’s weird as hell, but he feels like if he keeps pushing he can get a straight answer out of this lying shithead for once.

Yorozuya heaves a long, dramatic, honestly exasperated-sounding sigh, and scratches the back of his neck. “So persistent~ Pushy guys never have successful relationships, you know? Hah, of course you do, what am I saying.”

Hijikata feels a vein or two in his face twitching, but he’s not gonna take the bait. He crosses his arms, determined not to play along, no matter what it does to his blood pressure.

A miracle among miracles, after a few attentive seconds Yorozuya seems to give up on getting a reaction and sighs again through his nose.

“... Come on, why are you even asking when you already know? Like anybody could get a good night’s sleep in that zoo. Even without sending over any of your watchdogs I bet you can hear the racket all the way from that fancy oversized kennel of yours. Bunch of round the clock nuisances, all of ‘em.”

His eyes are on the floor while he grumbles, with a complicated-looking smile. No matter what the rest is, there’s an impossibly fond tinge to it.

… What a clumsy bastard.

It’s frustrating, irritating, embarrassing. Seeing him throw himself at people without a care in the world, demanding whatever he wants from them, shameless to the point of being offensive. Seeing him run and hide the second they give their affection freely.

It was the same way back when he lost his memory. It’s just that much a part of who he is.

This… obnoxious, troublesome, cowardly man.

How can Hijikata criticize the look he’s got on his face right now?

He feels his mouth twisting around trying to say something. Rather than continue to let it struggle he reaches into his pocket and occupies it with a smoke.

“Well? Was my answer satisfactory, Mr. Policeman?”

In the short time Hijikata looked away to pull out his lighter, silent as the grave, Yorozuya came a step closer and is leaning right into his personal space again, asking something ridiculous with a tone of voice so suggestive he could be quoting an AV.

To his infinite shame, he needs a second to swallow his heart back down into his chest. With an absolutely steady hand he lights his cig and Yorozuya has no choice but to spring away from the flame, squawking at him.

“You-- what are you gonna do if Gin-san’s pretty face gets scarred, you bastard!”

“Hah? What pretty face.”

“Jealousy is unsightly, Hijikata-kun. We both know I’m irresistible.”

“Maybe to a horny chimpanzee.”

The reassuring taste of tobacco and this familiar old back and forth is finally easing the strange tension he’s felt ever since he stopped in front of the building earlier.

So naturally, Yorozuya doesn’t let him keep enjoying it.

“Now now, no need to sell yourself so short. Your boss might be an ape, but if the second in command was one too, your whole merry group of thugs would collapse.” He plucks the cigarette out of Hijikata’s mouth, the tips of his fingers brushing his lips softly enough to be ticklish. “Can’t let you insult my standards like that, either.”

He takes a lazy drag, like the smoke was his to begin with. Hijikata moves to take it back, starting to open his mouth in complaint, notices the troublemaking grin Yorozuya flashes before he meets him halfway there in a mind-numbingly sudden and deep kiss.

Immediately there’s an arm curling snug around his waist, pulling him in until their bodies are flush, punching the breath out of his chest with a warm sigh that stays trapped between both their faces and grows damp. The thumb on his jaw strokes up to his earlobe. The slight heat from the cigarette lingers nearby, and so does its taste on Yorozuya’s tongue.

Before he can make heads or tails of it the hot pressure on his mouth is gone just as abruptly as it arrived. Yorozuya’s face is still close, half-lidded eyes casually boring into him through the dark.

“... So? Wanna go for a round or two?”

This--

\--

\-- what??

He’s been so wildly all over the place since he got here that Hijikata feels like his neck is gonna snap from the whiplash of trying to keep up with it.

“Did you hit your head, or something?” 

How did the mood turn into this. What the fuck.

“Well, a little bit yeah, but it’s pretty much better now. Whaddya say?”

Unbelievable.

“Where do you want me to start?! I have work tomorrow, you’re an injured person and a complete knucklehead to boot, take your damn pick!”

“Hmmm~” His arm is still around Hijikata’s waist. “None of that was a “no”, though?”

It- damn it, god _damn_ it.

It’s been ages. Yorozuya normally screws around like he always does, kissing sloppily and badly on purpose just to be an asshole, but when he gets serious about it- he’s good. He’s really good at it.

Going in full throttle from the start like that just moments ago, it’s left Hijikata’s head spinning and his lips throbbing and a sense of excitement in his stomach that he’s been trying his damnedest to ignore. 

He’s been working round the clock to clean up the mess caused by that battle over the harbour on top of everything else on his plate as vice chief, and it’s gotten to that point again where his body is wound up tight in need of relief no matter how much he absolutely doesn’t want to admit it to the shithead making eyes at him right now.

Without noticing, one of his hands ended up on Yorozuya’s shoulder earlier, thumb under the collar of his kimono.

Goddamn it.

“Why are you so frisky when you just came here to sleep, anyways.” He won’t deny it. But he’s gonna make the bastard work for it a bit.

“Oh, that? Well, you know. Can’t exactly rub one out with a pair of kids sleeping in the same room. And nobody even lets me walk to the bathroom by myself, they’re all so worried I’m gonna run off.”

They’re completely on the money there though, aren’t they.

“I’ve gotten pre----tty pent up down here,” he boasts, dropping his voice, like that’s a remotely alluring thing to say to somebody.

In the end, the same as what it usually comes down to then- two grown men getting off together, ‘cause they figured out at some point down the line how easy and convenient it is. No need for it to be any more or less than that.

Hijikata finally grabs back his smoke and takes a proper breath off it. Yorozuya always starts complaining about the taste no matter how many times he steals them to be cute or whatever, so he exhales nice and slow right in his face.

“Just making sure: your guts aren’t gonna come spilling out halfway through, right? I’m not into that thing, that- what is it, that nasty shit Sougo tricked me into looking at once. Garo? Goro? That.”

Yorozuya blows the smoke away and covers Hijikata’s mouth again briefly, sweetly, coyly. 

“It’ll be fine as long as Hijikata-kun is reeeeeeally gentle,” he all but whispers, hooking his chin over Hijikata’s shoulder and sliding a hand down below his belt with no delicacy whatsoever.

He squeezes, hard.

Hijikata shivers, swallows, and uses his hold on Yorozuya’s clothing to push him back a step.

“Go get ready,” he says, ignores how thick his own voice feels. “I’ll get the futon out.”

Laughingly, Yorozuya turns and heads towards the bathroom. “You’re not cute at all, jeez.”

“Like I want you to think I’m cute.”

Hijikata is somehow familiar enough with the place that muscle memory takes him straight to the bedding closet in the simple Japanese style room off to the left of the office, but he tells himself it would be easy enough for any random person to find without a problem.

He lays out the bed, finds somewhere to hang up his jacket and scarf, leans his sword against the wall and sits finishing his cigarette into the ash pouch he keeps in his pocket, thinking about nothing as hard as he can.

A few minutes without anything to chew on is enough to make him start wondering if Yorozuya’s having trouble in there with his hands all wrapped up, and who knows what else going on under his shirt. He was joking about the guts earlier. It couldn’t actually be that bad, right?

Before he can get too carried away with this train of thought there’s the distant sound of a door sliding open, followed by a faint soapy smell. That excited prickle in his stomach flares up again, mortifying as it is.

The footsteps coming his way are kind of noisy- is what he barely has time to think before the bedroom door is thrown open with a loud thwack and Yorozuya practically body slams him down into the futon.

“Ow!! The hell is wrong wi _nmmph_ -”

Yorozuya has grabbed the sides of his face and started kissing him like the world is ending, rather, like there’s no more oxygen left in it and he has to take all of Hijikata’s. While he’s going at it he throws one of his knees over Hijikata’s waist, which in his rush to get on top connects sharply with the side of his ribcage.

Hijikata grabs a fistful of thick messy hair and shoves the face attached to it away, gasping.

“What is your problem?!”

His whole mouth is tingling like it’s going to bruise. His side definitely _is_ going to bruise.

“Hnuh,” Yorozuya grunts, and licks his lips. He swallows. “I got kinda- It’s been so long that I, um, got super turned on messing with my ass in there, hahaha-”

Hijikata couldn’t tell in the middle of being knocked over like a bowling pin, but now that he’s sitting mostly still on top of him Yorozuya’s definitely got an obvious tent in his boxers.

He ditched his kimono in the bathroom, leaving on just his open shirt. Underneath he’s tightly covered in gauze, with thicker layers of it a bit under his collarbone all across the front of his chest, even more of it to the left of where his navel probably is beneath all the dressing. Hijikata still can’t make it out very well in the dark, but up close it doesn’t look like there are any new bloodstains.

He’s definitely energetic enough in spite of it, but-

Yorozuya hasn’t been idle in the meantime, taking Hijikata’s hand off his head, licking and biting between his fingers. It’s--

 _Fuck_ -

“You’re- you’re gonna get us both killed like this you asshole, come on-” he stammers through the electric sensations jumping up his arm, starting to prop himself up with the other one.

Yorozuya groans happily at the sudden pressure against his crotch as Hijikata sits up against him, laughing while they keep going till he’s on his back on the other end of the futon, positions reversed.

“Wow, what a gentleman,” he murmurs, lazily throwing his arms over Hijikata’s shoulders.

“Shut up,” is all he can think to say. Yorozuya just grins at him knowingly. Damn it.

“Hmmm, try and shut me up then.” He raises his knee underneath Hijikata’s body, pressing it intently between his legs and grinding.

Hijikata shudders and takes a breath. “You asked for it.”

He lowers his neck and fits their mouths together, slower than Yorozuya’s been going all night, unhooking the front of his vest and starting on his shirt buttons. He’ll be wearing this uniform back to the barracks later and doesn’t want it all sweaty and smelling like sex. 

Yorozuya’s fingers are clutching at the hair on the back of his head, pulling him closer, kissing back wantonly while he slips his other hand down the back of Hijikata’s collar and brushes his spine. The warm touch prickles all the way down to his hips, forcing a harsh sigh through his nose. He angles deeper into Yorozuya’s mouth, harder, and pulls back to bite his bottom lip for a little revenge. 

He shrugs off the clothes on his upper half and throws them somewhere, kissing the side of Yorozuya’s jaw, nudging his head up with his nose to reach the soft skin right underneath it, moving on to his jugular with teeth again.

“Ahaha, the Oni Vice Chief’s gonna eat me up, how scary~” Yorozuya’s voice vibrates up through his neck, still full of frustrating laughter. Leaving his mouth free was a mistake.

“Do you ever stop talking,” Hijikata mutters, starting on his belt buckle. He’s probably not as hard and ready to go as this piece of work, but he’s still getting there real fast.

“I already told you to try and make m- hhhhaa, _aah shit_ \--”

Just kneading the front of Yorozuya’s boxers between his knuckles gets him squirming wildly into his hand, like he’s ready to come any second.

He looks- he’s really. He really is… uh, wow. All Hijikata’s blood has gone directly south. 

He shoves his pants and underwear down together in one go and reaches around in the dark for the condoms he thinks he saw Yorozuya toss to the floor before tackling him earlier. He can’t focus well on looking for them at all though, not with Yorozuya savaging his mouth again. He’s being messy about it, but probably not on purpose, which makes it a whole lot less annoying than usual and a _whole_ lot more stimulating.

“-Nng- where--” Someone’s gonna lose their tongue if Hijikata tries to talk too much right now, but he can’t find any of the damn things, and isn’t at an age where he could feel satisfied with just kissing all night like horny virgins.

Yorozuya takes his hand off the nape of Hijikata’s neck and reaches around above his own head for a bit, then slaps a little foil package down against his shoulder with a weirdly victorious-sounding hum into his mouth. It was a competition, huh? Fine. Whatever.

He’s not going to do something pointless like rip it open with his teeth and risk breaking it, so he has to sit back up to get full use of his hands. Yorozuya reaches to his own waistband and starts to shimmy it down, but, for some reason.. he pauses, for barely a second. 

Hijikata doesn’t get it until he catches the way Yorozuya winces when he lifts both his knees up to pull off his boxers, nothing full-bodied, only a sudden harsh wrinkle in his normally lax face that’s only just visible from the night lights coming in through the window.

He feels instantly like he shouldn’t have seen it.

Yorozuya doesn’t want him to ask if he’s ok. He’s here right now because he doesn’t want anybody to ask. So Hijikata doesn't ask- it wouldn’t be like him to in the first place.

“Hey, I know we’ve been over that I’m ridiculously handsome already, but quit just looking at me and do it. Or does Hijikata-kun have some kind of denial fetish? Is this why you’ve been dumped so much? I wonder how much I could sell this kind of scoop to the tabloids for, hmm.” 

He’s running his mouth again, but just at a glance he’s achingly hard and dripping besides, and his words are hugely diminished by the breathless tone they’ve got. Full of shit, as usual.

Hijikata says so: “You’re so full of shit.” 

He’s finished with the condom so he pulls Yorozuya’s hips closer, and catches himself going about it more gently than he normally might. Suppresses the urge to give himself a good wake up slap, why is he- ugh.

“I’m flattered by the effort, but your dirty talk could really use some work.”

“Speak for yourself, you ass.”

“Ohhh? I thought you didn’t want me to speak? Gin-san’s silver tongue is famous you know, there’s no need to be embarrassed that it’s got you all hot and bothered.”

“You’re the embarrassing one, acting annoying to play this here off,” Hijikata rebuts, prodding the wet tip of Yorozuya’s erection. This earns a small flinch, not the kind borne from pain, and a hungry-looking grin.

Hijikata’s got the feeling that he’s been letting himself be led around by the nose for a while now but he’s too worked up and impatient to care anymore, it will never end if they just keep exchanging jabs like this. It’s such an easy pattern to fall into that it’s frustrating.

He hoists Yorozuya’s right leg up over his own hip and tests his ass with a few fingers. He’s slick and pliant already, like he said earlier- with a sudden stabbing thrill Hijikata feels sort of like he missed out on something really good.

Yorozuya’s body shudders around him and he gives a sharp, loud gasp. Must have hit a nice spot without realizing just now.

“ --You, you bastard, hhhah, will you hurry and put your dick in me already, just mess me up-” 

A dam seems to have collapsed somewhere because Yorozuya has completely switched from bullshitting to entreating, desperately, while he wiggles around on the futon trying to stimulate that same place. He’s always got a filthy mouth no matter the circumstances, but hearing him flat out ask to be ravaged in this many words- Hijikata deflected the topic a minute ago but he would be completely lying if he called it anything less than an enormous turn-on. Tonight, at least.

He’s no nervous teenager, but Hijikata finds that he needs a second to try and hold himself in check a bit when he pulls out his fingers. He tries to swallow the excited shiver building in his stomach while he lines up his body close to Yorozuya’s, exhaling hard through his mouth. If he finishes as quick as it feels he might, this prick will never let him live it down.

There’s a hard kick to the left of his tailbone.

“ _Fuck me_ ,” Yorozuya demands, the distant neon from outside lighting up a small trace of moisture in his eyes.

Ahh, forget it.

Hijikata slides in right to the hilt, one hand on the bedding at Yorozuya’s waist and the other gripping the side of his thigh. 

The heat is intoxicating- their bodies are already covered in sweat and the air between them is swelling with the scent of it, bitter and familiar. Yorozuya’s skin is hot, his breath in Hijikata’s ear is hot, inside him is impossibly hot.

He threw his arm around Hijikata’s shoulders the moment they connected, pulling his face down to his clavicle. His forehead bumps against it a few times uncomfortably before he lets it rest there, while he keeps feeding the sweet feeling flooding through his hips and thighs with rough, deep movements.

He’s been acting strangely, Yorozuya has been acting doubly strange ever since they met eyes across the office. He’s been drawing Hijikata closer and closer with every word and every action, nakedly beckoning with no pretense. It’s startling, humbling, frightening even. It’s what Yorozuya wants right now, and beneath everything else he feels, Hijikata wants to try and give it to him. He doesn’t know why. He doesn’t want to think about why. He doesn’t want to think, so he keeps chasing the pleasure he gets from Yorozuya holding him tightly enough for their skin to stick together.

Yorozuya is being so loud that he seriously runs the risk of waking up that old landlady of his on the first floor. It sounds nice, the way his voice gets when he’s really let go, but the idea of a confrontation with that shrewd bat at this time of night is enough to freeze dry every dick in the Eastern Hemisphere. 

Hijikata’s back aches not unpleasantly as he bends further forwards to put his mouth on Yorozuya’s. They’re both unskilled and sloppy at kissing now and it barely feels good, but his noises have gotten at least a bit stifled and the steeper angle sends burning sparks through Hijikata’s whole body. 

Ah, it doesn’t matter, he wants more of this- more of him.

He greedily quickens his pace and lets the passionate cry against his lips diffuse down his spine with a wonderful shiver. He’ll give Yorozuya exactly what he asked for, he’ll mess him up so much that he can’t think either. They’re both after the same thing.

Hijikata lets go of Yorozuya’s thigh and thumbs the underside of his cock. His body jolts and tightens and he throws back his head, spine curving up off the futon.

“ _Aaaaha don’t_ , I can’t,” he half-sobs, hips trembling.

Oh. Was that too much?

“Got it,” Hijikata answers breathlessly, though it’s a kind of pointless unnecessary thing to do. He’s seriously not thinking straight. But that’s fine.

“Jackass,” Yorozuya calls him, smiling wryly, with a horribly soft look in his eyes.

Hijikata’s chest throbs hard enough to make him dizzy. He can’t meet Yorozuya’s gaze all of a sudden. He’s really… not thinking straight at all.

That’s fine though. It’s fine.

He drops his head to Yorozuya’s collarbone again and becomes instantly conscious of what a bashful gesture it is. Something a little bit like horror freezes him there with his heart pounding in his ears, blood rushing to his face.

He grounds himself with the hazy feeling of sweat forming on his back, the heat of the body underneath him.

It’s fine- it doesn’t matter.

For a mercy Yorozuya hasn’t swooped in with his usual quick commentary on-- whatever this is. Maybe he’s also-

\--Nah. Doesn’t matter.

Hijikata lets his teeth brush the jut of bone underneath them, and hears an indignant “ouch” from above that which is completely at odds with the way something hard and sticky jerks up and hits his abdomen in response.

Having cooled off somewhat he starts making slower, more lingering strokes, the kind that feel vaguely itchy and frustrating but all the better for it. Yorozuya moves his body to meet them, with some impatient sounds.

“You know, you- can be an awful tease,” he says between gasps.

“--Don’t want to hear that- from you, of all people-” Hijikata can’t talk very evenly himself.

Teasing definitely wasn’t his intent, but Yorozuya could stand to be thrown for a loop or two.

-is a thought that occurs to him, but it’s buried fast under the hot and urgent sense of numbness quickly beginning to swell through his lower half even at this steadier rhythm.

He has to stop again to cut it off, and Yorozuya all but thrashes in disappointment.

“Oh come _on_ ,” he gripes, throwing an arm across his forehead like some swooning diva while he catches his breath.

Hijikata needs a second too, then without acknowledging Yorozuya’s complaint he decides: to hell with it all.

“Hey- I’m getting really close here.” Yorozuya can make fun of him all he wants, who cares. “Let me touch you?”

Yorozuya’s head snaps back up like he’s surprised. He seems to shortly consider making exactly the kind of joke that Hijikata is expecting him to, but for whatever reason doesn’t.

“My, aren’t we hardworking,” he hums in a tone of voice that’s still kind of irritating. “Gotta hand it to you civil servant types, I’m impressed.”

“Only someone as lazy as you would be,” Hijikata utterly cannot help but answer back.

“You’re the one who offered.” He’s got that self-satisfied look on his face like he thinks he’s the cleverest dickhead in the universe. His personality really is the worst.

“Is that a yes or a no?” Enough messing around.

“Sure, go ahead,” he concedes with a confident smirk. “See if you can make me come first, Five Second Samurai.”

 _There_ it is. This fucker.

“I’ll have you howling,” Hijikata warns, blood roaring through his veins in anticipation.

“Try it, Quick Dra-- _aaugh_ -”

He’s gone right for the sensitive area just beneath the head of Yorozuya’s dick and unreservedly taken it in hand, the way he knows the bastard can’t resist, with his thumb brushing the tip once every few tight strokes. It’s hard to concentrate on finessing two bodies at once so he just starts moving his hips again thoughtlessly the way he feels like doing, quick and hard. Yorozuya wraps his legs around Hijikata’s lower back to let himself be pulled partly up off the futon, to let him in deeper.

In spite of his obviously pleased reactions Yorozuya seems determined not to be vocal all of a sudden. For the noisiest lay of Hijikata’s life, for someone who never, ever shuts his mouth to be covering it with his own hand, the reason can only be that- he’s being stubborn about the thing Hijikata said just now. He would probably act the same way, to a line like that. He’ll probably be embarrassed he said it later.

For now, the hand he’s using to work Yorozuya over is a total mess already. With the absence of much other noise besides some tightly muffled moaning and both their hard breathing, wet and sticky sounds seem to fill the whole room. It’s something that would normally be totally unpalatable, but the sheer obscenity of it when they’re already doing this sort of thing is weirdly thrilling.

He’s not sure of what specifically he does to warrant it but Yorozuya’s legs seize even closer around him suddenly and so do his insides, enough to make Hijikata almost double over it’s so intense. He’s barely able to plant both his hands on the bedding and pull himself back from the edge.

While his eyes are refocusing he realizes that Yorozuya must have taken his hand away from his face, because the short noise he makes through his teeth sounds a lot clearer. It seems for a second like he could have come, but no- the way his body’s stiffened isn’t exactly right somehow.

Hijikata can see now that the hand Yorozuya took off his mouth is tightly gripping his injured side. His face is screwed up worse than it was before, eyes squeezed shut from pain.

Hijikata’s mind empties completely.

Some strange things rise into his throat all tangled up, but none of them get said. Without really thinking he extends a hand, the cleaner one probably, towards the side of Yorozuya’s face. It hangs there without making contact.

“H-hey, you--”

“Don’t… don’t you dare stop.”

Yorozuya’s recovered enough to say something outrageous, his voice a bit thin but totally earnest. 

He’s making a kind of face that Hijikata has never seen on him before, and never wants to see again. The shape that his mouth is in could be described as a smile, but it’s so completely lacking in humour that it seems closer to a grimace. There’s no usual laughter in his eyes or his brow either, there’s just this sense of- of utter desperation coming from his abnormally taut features.

He takes Hijikata by the wrist and pulls his hand down on to the futon, right next to his cheek. He doesn’t let go.

“Okay? Don’t stop.”

Something-- what is it. Something is burning in the back of Hijikata’s head, down his neck to his shoulder blades. It feels heavy and sharp but he can’t put a name to it.

They’re both still hard, Yorozuya’s hand is still around his wrist, and he’s still giving Hijikata that terrible, terrible look.

He can’t bear to meet it anymore so he shuts his eyes, and kisses Yorozuya with more uncertainty than he felt the very first time he did it. Just like back then, Yorozuya kisses him back readily, holding the nape of his neck so softly it seems like it almost hurts.

He puts his hand back to work between their bodies, insistently, but slow and smooth. Yorozuya sighs in appreciation into his mouth, lifting his hips up towards his touches. They’ve still been coupled this entire time, so however slight it is, him moving like that agitates the lingering fire at the base of Hijikata’s spine again. He can’t stop himself from succumbing to it a little and falling further into that clinging pressure.

Yorozuya has wrapped both his arms around Hijikata’s neck and keeps coming back to his lips between more and more heated gasps and cries. It’s never much more than their mouths pushing together briefly, but as long he does it, nobody has to say a word.

His body curls inwards on itself all at once, and he buries his forehead between Hijikata’s neck and shoulder with a shuddering wail. This is different from before, this Hijikata recognizes and understands in an instant. Quickly, he leans forward on to his elbow and loops his other arm between Yorozuya’s back and the futon, holding him close as he starts to fuck him hard through his orgasm.

“Sorry”, he wants to say, while he finally gives in to the desperate trembling heat in his own body too. But he doesn’t say it.

It seems to take a long, long time for Hijikata’s muscles to stop tensing and relaxing. Then altogether he feels almost the same kind of fatigue hit as the sort that comes after a few hundred practice swings- hard earned and refreshing. 

He’d like nothing more than to collapse and enjoy it, but Yorozuya’s whole body is still wrapped around him. His head is still resting on Hijikata’s shoulder. There are deep, regular breaths against his chest below that.

… No way. There’s no way, that’s _way_ too fast.

Hijikata reluctantly defies the urge to just flop over, and starts to carefully duck out of Yorozuya’s embrace. He doesn’t complain, or make any sign or stirring. Hijikata lets his head down on to the futon and sees that his eyes are shut, mouth hanging half-open in that particular way.

Yeah. He’s completely asleep.

Yorozuya is always quick to doze after they do it but this is unprecedented. Unimaginable, even- did he just nod off right in the middle of coming? Is that even _possible_?

Hijikata does not want to let him get away with this. He wants to pinch him until he wakes up, then pinch him some more, and give him an earful about how _oh_ so sorry he is that his technique is so _boring_ as to inspire slumber.

Any other time, he would do just that without even stopping to think about it. Tonight, though… he still only has a vague picture of the circumstances, but Hijikata can think of enough potential reasons for Yorozuya to be this exhausted.

Or he could be faking- he’s sly enough to do something like this just to avoid an awkward conversation.

Not that Hijikata would have any goddamn clue what to say in the first place. Now that the lust clouding his senses has dispersed, he’s just left with a massive discomfort at all the things he’s been so easily let to see.

He doesn’t plan to mention any of it. Not tonight, not the next time he meets Yorozuya, whether that’s tomorrow or in a month. Yorozuya won’t mention it either, he’s positive- he can rely on their similarities when it comes to this sort of thing. That’s part of what makes this so… 

… What is “this”, anyways.

Hijikata decides to stop thinking about such pointless things and starts to clean himself up instead. It doesn’t take an awful long time at all with some tissues and a waste bin already close at hand, ushering in the problem of Yorozuya’s own unconscious and yet dirtied state.

Usually, he would just leave the lout naked and cold after the insult of his instantaneous departure from being awake, but, well. Hijikata is guilty of some impropriety himself too, this time around. Getting carried away enough to put strain on an injury he was already aware of-

Thinking of it again, remembering that completely alien look of despair on Yorozuya’s face, makes his stomach feel like it’s full of ice. He pulls some more tissues from the box.

The bandages wrapped around his torso have already absorbed some of the mess but Hijikata will be damned before he plays nursemaid and changes them over something they both chose to do, so he just dabs up the rest. Yorozuya can deal with the discomfort later. Hijikata wishes a little that he could see the look on his face when he realizes what’s dried and stuck there.

It’s a significant bit of extra service, but Hijikata is feeling charitable so he even takes a glance around and finds Yorozuya’s boxers for him. He didn’t notice before, but the design is a bunch of little strawberries. Ugh.

Actually finding the waistband and leg holes and starting to slip Yorozuya’s feet back through brings it thundering down on Hijikata’s good senses, like a grenade detonating, how fucking absurd what he’s doing is. Disbelief, mortification, embarrassment, and above all profound gratitude that Yorozuya has zero knowledge of it, take turns welling up and tossing around inside him.

Whatever, it’s done, he already decided to do it so he’s going to finish doing it, and then he is never going to think about it again.

With that resolution set in stone he quickly goes about pulling the garment up, but his own pathetic little crisis being one matter, something else he finds he can’t ignore.

His knuckles, brushing the side of Yorozuya’s leg, come away feeling damp and hot. His own sweat has long since dried away and his body is back at its usual calm temperature. So why-

There’s only one real possibility that Hijikata can think of, and more swiftly than he’d like to consider he’s already got the back of his hand pressed against Yorozuya’s forehead to check for it. The heat is intense and abnormal, and his hairline is almost slippery with perspiration. He’s unmistakably running a fever, and a high one at that.

He shouldn’t have checked. He shouldn’t have bothered with all this weird aftercare shit that isn’t like him in the least, he shouldn’t have even played along with Yorozuya’s shitty “seduction” from the start, goddamn it all.

Now he has to- goddamn it.

Shit. Damn it.

Hijikata throws on his clothes with the kind of speed that only an incredibly foul mood can muster, and opens the bedroom door.

“I’ll be going through your things again, you shitty perm head,” he declares to the useless infuriating lump on the futon behind him.

Hijikata heads to the bathroom first and gets some water and a cloth in a plastic rinsing basin, then takes it back to the office and leaves it on the desk while he roots around in the armoire. He has to try a few drawers before he finds what he’s looking for, and makes a total mess of their contents going through them. He doesn’t give a shit though.

He sets down the first aid kit on the rim of the basin and takes them both back into the bedroom, absolutely not practicing enough care to avoid a bit of splashing. He really doesn’t give a shit. Once he’s placed them both by the bedding however, there’s the unavoidable issue of needing proper light to go through with this whole ridiculous thing.

Fuck it. He’ll knock the bastard right back out again himself if he dares to wake up.

Hijikata pulls the light switch. Yorozuya doesn’t show any sign of rousing, not even a slight movement comes over his face. But the flush there is clearly visible now.

Before he gets started Hijikata goes into his pocket for a cigarette. He’s not going to light it and sprinkle hot ashes in Yorozuya’s wounds- he just slips it into his mouth for something to chew on, while he sits and rolls up his sleeves.

He flips the latches on the first aid kit and opens it. He props his forehead on his knuckles, sighing. He really is doing it, huh.

Well, no use lamenting now. He leans over and starts to peel Yorozuya’s sweaty shirt off his torso.

It’s been a good amount of time since he last did something like this, but the motions are all still familiar. The Shinsengumi would have some pretty thin ranks if nobody knew how to take care of a blade wound or ten.

… No, Hijikata probably never would have even survived long enough to meet Kondou-san in the first place if he didn’t have this kind of experience. Patching up someone else’s cuts is different in strange ways from dealing with your own, but it was easy enough to learn, and he’s had more than enough practice since coming to Edo.

Cutting open all the gauze, he’s fully expecting to find an oozing infection to explain the fever, but this guy’s babysitters actually seem to half know what they’re doing. There’s some normal, ugly-looking bruising here and there around two large wound sites, but those have the obvious look of being regularly cleaned. Puffy and raw, on the way to becoming impressive scars, but closing up well.

As for scars… Yorozuya’s covered in them. They’ve only ever messed around in poor lighting, so Hijikata never noticed before. Some of them look old, some look barely formed. There are a lot of thin blade marks, an unmistakable bullet hole or two, and a number that are just totally unidentifiable patches of ruined tissue.

The amount of them easily rivals Hijikata’s own count. He’s not especially proud of the number he’s got- it’s usually better to not take a blow instead of taking one, and a good handful came from plain old lack of skill back when he was just a rampaging brat. Yorozuya… probably isn’t proud of his either, but it’s hard to say.

Serious injury is a basic occupational hazard, doing what Hijikata does for a living. He’s not thickheaded enough to think of himself as some gallant protector of the weak the way some of his greener subordinates do, but picking fights with violent extremists ends up being the day’s work fairly often. If he’s the one they end up cutting rather than some respectable person just trying to do their grocery shopping, it’s a sign that he’s doing at least something right.

It’s part of his job to be the one getting hurt instead of someone else, sometimes. But it’s not part of Yorozuya’s job. So why does his body look like this?

… No, maybe it is the same for him too.

Hijikata doesn’t know how long Yorozuya’s been living in Edo. He doesn’t know if he was born here, or if he spent most of his life somewhere else, somewhere even more chaotic and bloody. He does know that regardless of any of that, he’s connected to this city, and to the people living in it. He also _knows_ , without a shred of proof, that the bastard was right in the thick of whatever the hell it was that happened over the harbour.

The whole thing is looking at this point like cold case material, but Hijikata has gone over the eyewitness reports a dozen times. 

A giant blade, said to have cleft an entire ship clean in two. 

The huge wound on Yorozuya’s side, the one he’s looking down at right this second, identical in shape to one made by a sword, but with an incision far too wide for that to be possible.

It’s absurd beyond belief. For such a weapon to have really existed, or for anybody to have faced it head on and survived. That’s not the part that matters anyways, though- no matter how lazy, unmotivated, rude, annoying, greedy, and a thousand other things Yorozuya is, what he is the most is a trouble magnet. Whether it pulls him in or he attracts it wherever he goes, he is always at the very centre of some disturbance or other, whether it’s a scooter accident or a battle for the city rumoured to have involved the fucking _kiheitai_ of all people.

Rumours are just rumours, but Yorozuya is who he is: a blustering pain in the ass, who’s probably wound up in enough life or death situations through what seems like plain old coincidence to have already killed him thirty times.

It _seems_ like coincidence. But there are things- occasional flashes of an unreadable smile, the memory of a cheap sword shattering in his hand on a rooftop- pointless, vague things that make Hijikata feel, for no reason he can put into words, that Sakata Gintoki got his scars in someone else’s place too.

Hijikata’s been keeping his hands busy while thinking about all these ultimately inconsequential things, wiping away the bloody grit and discharge from Yorozuya’s injuries now that he’s already exposed them. None of it looks discolored or has a weird consistency, and the compress bandages all came off without much resistance. He starts to replace them with fresh ones, wondering at the reason for the jerk’s temperature, then.

There’s the slim possibility that the wounds on his hands are the source instead, but it seems next to zero. Hijikata would have noticed any of the more telltale signs of infection when they were all over him earlier.

… He might still check after he’s finished here, though.

Taping the last of the compresses down and rummaging around for gauze in the first aid kit, he’s realizing that the answer is probably more simple, and more frustrating, than anything to do with Yorozuya’s injuries at all. Those Shimura siblings and the little girl probably all dragged him to the dojo together, and between four people there’s no way they could have forgotten to lock the door. Well, three of them could very well have, but the younger brother seems too uptight for that. 

Meaning that somebody had come back and opened it already at least once, probably far more than once, before either of them got here earlier in the night.

It’s not that Hijikata doesn’t well understand the frustration of bedrest. Hell, he can’t imagine having to put up with _kids_ looking after him, and the matter of that terrifying hostess woman is another thing entirely.

But wandering around in the dead of night with a weakened body, frequently enough to invite sickness- there’s a limit to how careless a person can be before they’re just a goddamn fool.

Well, Hijikata already knew that Yorozuya is both of those things to begin with.

… He knows how hard it is to accept kindness, too.

Hijikata’s been worrying his cigarette between his teeth so much that it’s turned into a soggy pulpy piece of garbage. He throws it away and takes out another, intending to light this one now that he’s got Yorozuya wrapped up in gauze all nice and tight again. He did a damn good job of it, considering he told himself half an hour ago that he’d rather be dead. 

Bastard better be grateful. He can never, _never_ know that Hijikata did this for him, but he better fucking be grateful.

Hijikata flicks his lighter and leans back with his palms behind him to enjoy the first few breaths nice and slow. He’s sitting across from the window. The sky outside is pale grey-blue, and the neon lights all disappeared at some point. Doesn’t look like he’ll have time for any kendo drills by himself this morning. He’ll try to fit them in before he takes a nap later.

Having the light on is pointless now, so he stands up to turn it off and stretches his legs a little. He goes over to his coat and takes out his phone. He’s not sure exactly when the Shimura household starts their day, but sooner or later they’ll all wake up and realize they’re one buffoon short from usual. He doesn’t know the number himself, but he’s got a small handful of options.

Kondou-san isn’t one of them. There’s the obvious reason, but mostly Hijikata isn’t going to interrupt the small amount of rest he has left before another day of wrangling their big sorry lot of miscreants.

Sougo… probably knows the phone number, on the chance that he could do something mean-spirited with it, but he won’t pick up. He doesn’t pick up when he’s awake anyways, the little shit.

That leaves…

… 

… oh, right. That one.

Hijikata scrolls down to the middle of his address book and selects the number. The tone rings in his ear half a dozen times. He can almost hear the dimwitted blinking and groaning on the other end. The call finally connects.

“ … Vice Chief… ? It’s… still… so early… what…”

“Yamazaki, call Shimura Tae’s residence and let the people there know they’ve got a lost belonging waiting for them at Yorozuya’s place.”

“ A lost… huh…? Wha… Vice Chief, where are you right now?”

Hijikata’s pulse surges for no reason. He goes with a convincing lie.

“I found some of their trash on the street around here and brought it back in. It’s the wrong day for combustible items to go out, but tell them I’ll waive the fine this time.”

“I don’t understand what you’re saying at all, Vice Chief. Are you half-asleep? Did you go out drinking somewhere?”

Hijikata is overcome with the desire to crush his cell phone in the palm of his hand and shove the pieces down Yamazaki’s throat.

“Just contact them, and tell them to get their asses over here, Yamazaki, or you’re gonna wish that this phone call was a nightmare. _Now_ do you understand me?”

Yamazaki has the guts to openly sigh at him over the phone. He’s a dead man.

“Yes, Vice Chief. I’ll take care of it.” 

With that, the call cuts off. Hijikata almost wishes he’d tried Sougo instead.

… almost.

Being witty about it was probably a mistake though. He panicked a little, and got too tied up in coming off as clever to be very coherent. He must be more tired than he realized to screw up like that. The rest of the day is going to be long.

… Well, there’s about a 50% chance that Yamazaki is already back asleep, so he’ll call again in a few minutes and make _very_ sure that the message gets across the second time.

Before that, Hijikata is going to put away all the evidence of his actions here, and finish his cigarette. He’ll take a cab back to the barracks when he’s done.

The basin and cloth are simple enough to dispose of back where they came from, but he can’t remember where he got the first aid kit. He eventually decides to just leave it on top of the armoire. That’s good enough.

Without thinking about it much, he goes back to the bedroom instead of just sitting on one of the sofas out in the office. It’s light enough now that Yorozuya’s complexion can be seen without electricity. That little group of his will probably be furious at the state he’s put himself in. They might roll him up in a blanket and tie him into it, to prevent any more secret night time excursions. With his head poking out at one end, like some kind of perm maki.

… Yeah, Hijikata must be exhausted after all, to be smiling at a bad joke he came up with himself. He’ll try to catch some shut-eye in the taxi.

“What’s.. so funny,” a familiar, hoarse voice asks, from atop the futon next to Hijikata’s leg.

Yorozuya’s got his eyes half open, his face a weak but genuine shadow of its usual slack-jawed mocking self.

Hijikata can’t tell what his own face looks like.

“Nothing,” he says, feeling the word tremble pathetically in his throat.

He reaches towards Yorozuya’s face before he knows what he’s doing, and covers his eyes with the palm of his hand. 

“I’m not here. You’re dreaming.”

Hijikata takes a drag from the last little bit of his cigarette. The city outside is completely silent.

“... Yeah,” Yorozuya says. His eyelashes tickle the skin on Hijikata’s hand when they slowly shut. “Must be.”


End file.
